


just one little taste

by ssuppositiouss



Series: sensations [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alpha Lance (Voltron), Alpha rut, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Dubious Consent, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mutual Pining, Omega Keith (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 07:11:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19371826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssuppositiouss/pseuds/ssuppositiouss
Summary: Lance gets himself into stupid situations all the time. . . But he has to admit, festering in his unsuppressed Alpha smell, getting captured by a criminal he was flirting with, and getting cuffed to an exposed basement pipe is one of his worst.At least he’s creative enough to come up with escape plans.(a fic where Lance ends up in his Rut and Keith ends up in his Heat simultaneously)





	just one little taste

**Author's Note:**

> a year after "you smell so pretty" I'm back with this self-indulgent mess of a fic
> 
> this is very dubcon klance, but I wanted to explore what it means for an Alpha in a Rut, since most fics go into Heats
> 
> I'll edit more after work since I'm posting with no wifi

If not for the fact that she captured him and locked him in a basement, he thinks the flirting went well. Sure, his arms ache from being pulled upward, yanked above his head and cuffed to an exposed ceiling pipe. Sure, he feels vulnerable in this position, and he supposes that had been the Alpha’s point in knocking him out and dragging him here. Sure, it isn’t _ideal_.

But he can get out of this.

Honestly, Lance gets himself into stupid situations all the time.

When he was eleven, he thought he was mature enough to hang out with his sister’s high school friends, sneaking into her room when she left for snacks. The smell of her friends’ Alpha and Omega pheromones made him dizzy enough he passed out.

He doesn’t even know what happened between when he’d been making silly jokes to Veronica’s dark-haired friend and when his mami was telling him that they needed to see the doctor. He remembers that his older siblings were freaking out, that he was starting to present, that it was too early. Veronica didn’t even have it in her heart to scold him for clinging to her friends, she was so worried.

When Lance presented as an Alpha, his doctor wanted to put him in a Rut Chamber because he was “too young to control himself, presenting so early.” They never went to that doctor again.

(Sometimes, Lance wonders if he would be able to control his Rut if he were near an Omega in heat. He _never_ wants to hurt anyone. He wants to be the kind of Alpha who loves and protects whoever he is with.)

“This is all a big misunderstanding, right, Nyma?” He forces an easy smile on his lips, stares at the door with a tiny bit of hope that _maybe_ she’ll come back in and free him.

The door remains closed.

“Nyma?” he calls again, a little louder.

He tries to pull his fingers close, make his hands and wrists as small as possible to tug himself out of the cuffs. The pressure makes his hands scream, and he stops his actions to catch a breath of relief. He wants to sag down against the wall behind him and rest a little, but he thinks if he moves too much he could dislocate his shoulders.

Okay. So he won’t be getting out this way, then.

He scans the room, his mind wandering while he tries to find a way out.

Lance wracks his mind for ideas. The room is barren other than a dingy bucket he assumes will be his bathroom if he’s here for too long. He shudders at the thought. Nyma emptied his pockets of his phone and keys, took anything he could consider a useful weapon far from his reach.

He can picture the team’s faces when they eventually find him—they _will_ find him, he doesn’t want to imagine what would happen to him if they don’t, though the pictures Allura had shown in their case meeting really makes him want to escape on his own. He needs to get out.

Besides, he can’t let Keith find him like this.

When he was in the Garrison, starry-eyed and fresh and new, he looked up from his biological sciences exam and had the inexplicable urge to sink his teeth into the scruff of Keith Kogane’s pretty white neck, to _mark_ him and _scent_ him and _hold_ him. He didn’t, of course, and he finished his exam with a grade close enough to Keith’s that it was almost worth the uncharacteristically possessive thought about _Keith_. But the urge remained even though it was clear that Keith was an Alpha and was off-limits.

He wrote a stupid, short note telling Keith to stop stinking up the classroom and threw it at Keith’s mullet. Whether it was a coincidence or not, Keith disappeared for a week after, and Lance was so guilty about it he made Hunk bake and deliver cookies to Keith from ‘a secret admirer.’

Hunk still laughs about the whole thing, especially since Keith rejected the cookies, but it’s not one of Lance’s best moments. Though he knows it’s not true and he can’t really blame anyone for his own actions, Lance wants to say it’s Keith’s fault, for always unconsciously stretching his neck just _so_ , taunting Lance with the delicate show of his collarbone and his—

 _Scent_!

Lance perks up. Of course!

He’s. . . not going to acknowledge that thinking of Keith brought him to this idea. Like he’s going to give that mullet another thing to lord over him.

But, this might be his best option.

While it hadn’t been his best move to wait until he was completely out of scent suppressants to run to the pharmacy for a refill, the fact that he hasn’t taken anything could work out in his favor now.

Going to work without suppressants was one of his dumber decisions, he realized a little too late, when he received two propositions on the elevators, when Pidge insulted his scent and threatened to hack his computer if she heard anyone mention him, when he scared Keith enough to bolt from the room and leave a strangely tantalizing scent trail behind him.

Nothing quite prepared him for how quickly Keith could run away after looking so sick.

He knew it was stupid to follow Keith from the office, but Keith looked so flushed, violet eyes wide and frantic, and he was stumbling over his words and trembling and Lance was ( _worried_ ) poised to make fun. Keith never got sick, and he wouldn’t run away like that. Their rivalry wouldn’t allow it.

(He'll claim it was because of Alpha instincts, but, when he followed, it he wanted to make sure Keith was okay.)

He lost Keith somewhere in the hallways, Keith just the slightest bit faster—not that he’d _ever_ tell Keith that!

As with all his bright ideas, he ended up following the pretty smell toward their lockers. He was unthinkingly leaning toward the door, a flare of possession burning inside him (as well as that silly thought of sinking his teeth into Keith’s neck and sucking an obvious, possessive mark into him). Then he backed away in disgust with himself.

He isn’t the type to fantasize about another person without their consent, and he hates the idea of forcing someone to run from him because he’d been too busy to refill his scent suppressants until he’d run out. He scrambled away from the locker room, though he lingered just a little longer by the door before he forced himself away entirely. He couldn’t stand there like a creep, no matter how tempting the scent may have been.

Lance gets himself into stupid situations all the time. . . But he has to admit, festering in his unsuppressed Alpha smell, getting captured by a criminal he was flirting with, and getting cuffed to an exposed basement pipe is one of his worst.

At least he’s creative enough to come up with escape plans.

He can’t Alpha Command Nyma, since she is also an Alpha, but he thinks he can overwhelm her with his scent and try anyway. No one goes without suppressants anymore, so Lance’s scent is as strong as it can be.

He’s out of practice in controlling his scent, since the suppressants have done wonders, but he squeezes his eyes shut and concentrates, tries to force his pheromones to pour out of him and fill the room. He imagines a blue fog spilling out and slowly spreading, imagines directing his scent directly at Nyma when she arrives.

It’s hard to tell if whatever he’s doing is working. He’s never tried something like this before. He thinks of pale skin and long hair, pouty pink lips and bright eyes. . . “Heh, like that?”

His scent _bursts_ forth.

He forces the impending fantasy away, but the effects on his pheromones are enough.

“Hey, Sharpshooter.” Fantasy-Keith smiles the half smile that Lance maybe, sort of, kind of likes.

_Thoughts, go away._

* * *

Arms painfully numb, Lance is nearly asleep when he hears the door shake in its hinges. He startles awake, yanking his hands in their cuffs and biting back his shout at how they rub his skin painfully. He’s going to need a lot of skin creams for his wrists after this.

The door shakes again, and Lance takes a deep breath and forces more of his scent to rise.

“Lance!” The voice sounds like Keith. Fantasy-Keith strikes again, and Lance shoves the thought aside with more force than before.

But he still feels like he’s challenging someone, so his scent becomes stronger, fiercer, angrier—

The door slams open, and Lance _throws_ his scent toward Nyma, eyes blazing as he Commands, “Uncuff me.”

Keith stares back at him, frozen in the threshold.

Even in the darkness of the basement, Lance notices how violet Keith’s eyes are. They stare at each other longer than Lance will admit. It makes more of his pheromones spread.

This is not fantasy-Keith.

“Uhh. . .”

“I had this under control,” Lance says, face flushing. Of _course_ Keith would see this, would _smell_ this.

Keith has always been a bit of an enigma, and Lance honestly hasn’t taken the right steps to unraveling the mystery that is Keith. They’re both part of team Voltron, but Lance likes to compare their case reports and say he’s caught more criminals. Shiro scolds him, but the rivalry is motivating to Keith, too, so if anything, Shiro’s lectures are half-heartedly given.

A beat passes.

His blush spreads when he realizes the position he’s in, cuffed and scent festering and trying Command another Alpha. Keith’s going to make fun of him for _weeks_.

“Don’t say anything,” he whines.

“No, I. . . The room smells like you,” Keith says, stupidly. There’s a small smile tugging at his lips.

Seeing Keith smile makes him smile goofily back. “Astute observation, mullet.” He rolls his eyes, but he feels warm and fond. He _knew_ Voltron would come for him. (He knew _Keith_ would come for him, he just. . . can’t deal with that, won’t deal with that thought now.) “We should give you a medal.”

“Yeah?”

“The room smelling like me was the _point_.”

“Clearly.” Keith’s hands are trembling as he makes his way toward Lance, footsteps slow and shaking. “What’d you do in here to stink it up?”

Lance laughs. It’s a little forced, but he really doesn’t want to tell the story. He’s not going to admit that a _certain_ person had made his scent stronger. “Not much to tell.”

“Do I even want to know?”

“Hey,” he decides to spin the situation in his favor, “Voltron wouldn’t have found Nyma without me.”

Keith pauses several steps from Lance. “Maybe.” His face is pink, and he’s twisting his hands in one another as he bites his lip.

“You just don’t want to admit I’m right.” He smirks at Keith, tugs on his cuffs. The sound of the metal clanging against the pipe is loud, and Lance shivers, though he still feels warm. Though he’s sure the room should smell of his Alpha dominance, he thinks he’s starting to smell something else.

“I’ll admit it when you’re right.” Keith stands close to Lance, close enough that Lance can hear Keith’s heavy breaths, that Lance can keep breathing in this tantalizing smell.

It’s familiar. It’s something very _deliciously_ familiar.

He inhales, lets the sweet and somehow spicy scent tickle his nose, lets it encase him. _Keith_. . .

In and out. In and out. He just needs to breathe. Keith can smell him, too. He’s standing on tip toe as he reaches for Lance’s handcuffs, and Lance unconsciously leans toward Keith. Something about this moment feels intimate, something about it makes him want to—

He can feel Keith’s hard cock pressing against his thigh, rubbing against him with _just_ the right amount of friction.

“Keith,” he breathes. Did. . . Did he position them like this? Lance is shaking, nervous but happy, his body _wants_ this, he _wants_ this. Keith _clearly_ wants something.

“L _ance_ ,” Keith moans.

Lance’s heart skips a beat. He didn’t think Keith could sound like that. It’s like a wet dream turned reality, this sight, his smell, the sounds, he sounds so— “Did you just. . .”

Keith doesn’t move, fingers still touching Lance’s wrist, body still pressed against Lance. He’s breathing through his mouth, and the smell of an Omega becomes startlingly clear as Keith trembles so close to him. Everything feels frozen. The more Lance breathes in Keith’s scent, the more he wants. “Tell me to leave.”

Lance’s mouth feels dry, suddenly. He thinks he can taste Keith’s scent in the back of his throat. Why would he ever want Keith to leave? “Wh—what?”

“Tell me. . .” His body is hyperaware of each of Keith’s movements as he picks the lock on the cuffs. The pretty scent spreads around him like a cloud. He licks his lips. “I can’t control myself.”

It doesn’t feel appropriate to speak.

“You’ll hate me.” Keith’s voice is soft, unsure. Lance frowns. He could _never_ hate Keith. He’s felt frustration and jealousy and dislike and so many things (like attraction), but never hatred. Keith’s scent clouds his mind, curling around him like a warm caress.

“I couldn’t.”

The wonderful smell at work earlier was Keith— _you want him, take him, y_ _ou’re an_ Alpha _, you’re_ the _Alpha_ —and he’d been making slick because of _Lance_ and Lance’s _Alpha scent_.

His first wrist is free, and he reaches toward Keith, pausing mid-movement. They don’t touch each other like this, they don’t _like_ each other like this. Keith smelling like an Omega in heat doesn’t change who they are.

But he finds his hand is on Keith’s waist anyway, the heat of Keith’s body passing onto him, and Lance leans closer, so he can feel Keith’s breath. He’s hard, achingly hard, and Keith is _right here_.

 _Take him_.

The metal clicks and the cuffs clang loudly on the basement floor. When had Keith uncuffed his other hand? Lance hasn’t felt this way in a long time, the heat of want (of _need_ ) coursing through his body, pooling at his cock, precome wetting his pants. His hands are both free, he can touch himself now. (He can touch _Keith_.) Neither of them moves, and Lance’s hand is still on Keith’s waist, pressing hard enough to hold him in place, to assert himself, to take control.

“Lance,” Keith breathes. “You smell. . .”

He moves his other hand down, slowly, so he can hold Keith. Thoughts ping through his head, scattered and messy and trying to solidify as something beyond how much he _wants_ this, he _needs_ this. There are no handcuffs holding him back, no restrictions to his desires. He feels different. Stronger. He feels like he has more power.

He does have power.

He’s an Alpha.

“Kneel,” passes through his lips before he realizes his mouth has opened. The soft, sweet scent of Omega is dizzying, and it makes him giddy to be so close to someone like this, to feel this way.

Keith scrambles to obey him, stares up at him with his pretty purple eyes. “Lance. . .”

There’s so much Lance wants from this, so much he has wanted. This angle leaves Keith vulnerable, and as he looks up at Lance, he’s tilting his head, gathering his hair to the side to bare his neck just like he had when they’d been in school, when he’d looked up at the board and made Lance _want_ so strongly he’d hated himself and he’d hated Keith because of it. Bliss. It’s what he’s feeling right now. He lusts and he wants, but he’s in absolute bliss with Keith like this.

His cock aches, the heat almost overwhelming. He towers over Keith. He likes it this way, showing Keith who the Alpha is.

_You’re the Alpha, Lance._

After years and years of being second best, of being the one everyone looked down on, of falling behind Keith Kogane every single time, he finally stands taller. _He_ is the Alpha over _Keith_. _He_ is the one who caused this.

His head feels light, dazed.

“You’re an Omega,” he says incredulously, breaking the silence between them.

 _Your Omega_ , Lance imagines Keith says.

Keith nods, slow, and the smell of Keith’s heat drives Lance wild. How had he never known Keith was an Omega? How had he gone so long without a taste. . .

He has the perfect Omega waiting for him, willing to follow his Commands, eager to please. He feels drunk on the power, proud of himself, proud of this. _Take what you deserve as the Alpha_.

It’s the feeling of overpowering someone he’s always seen as out of reach. The feeling that he’s finally not the weaker of them. The feeling that he can have what he wants.

For the first time, he’s in complete control.

A heated fog clouds his mind as he kneels to Keith’s level.

Keith grabs Lance and tugs him forward, smashing their mouths together in a heated frenzy. His movements are awkward, and their teeth clash against each other as they attempt to find the right positions for their mouths. Keith has no idea what he’s doing, and Lance almost wants to laugh, if it didn’t somehow feel this good.

They find balance eventually, and Lance loses himself in the taste of Keith’s lips, the soft, unsure but passionate press of his tongue.

He’s kissing Keith Kogane. His cock pulses, demanding attention, and he palms himself through the fabric of his pants, pressing his mouth harder against Keith’s.

 _Take more. Tear off his shirt_.

Lance pauses for not even a second as he pulls away, and then his fingers are moving. He’s yanking the button-down shirt of Keith's uniform open, peeling the fabric away like he’s unwrapping a present. He can see Keith’s pale chest, the skin unmarked and _begging_ Lance to suck bruises into him, to _mark_ him. He presses his lips to Keith’s chest, to a dusky nipple peaked at the temperature, flicking his tongue so Keith trembles. He wants to remember the taste.

 _Touch what’s yours_.

So he does, fingers soft and wondrous as he caresses the soft skin of his rival.

Keith’s cheeks are pink, a blush that travels down his neck but not to his chest. Lance tweaks the other nipple, grinning at Keith’s shudder, taking it into his fingers and twisting so Keith mewls and leans closer.

His reactions go straight to Lance’s cock. They’re so unpracticed, so eager. He looks like a virgin Omega, trying to please his Alpha on their first night. There’s so much passion behind everything, because it’s _Keith_.

Lance leaves his hands on Keith’s chest, and he can feel how fast Keith’s heart is beating. Keith whimpers at the touch. They haven’t spoken for a while, and it feels like hours have passed, somehow not enough time for Lance to fully absorb the sensations he’s feeling now.

Keith licks his lips. “I’ve always wanted. . .”

“Really?” Maybe he feels doubt, but the power, the desire, the carnal _need_ is pulsing inside him. His cock aches for an Omega. He _needs_ an Omega.

Of course Keith would want him. Lance is the _Alpha_.

“ _Yes_.” Keith presses closer to Lance, and the bright, strong scent of slick clouds his senses again. “I’ve always”—he inhales, like Lance’s scent is a drug and he wants all of it—“wanted you. . .”

No, that isn’t right. Keith doesn’t. . .

“Take me.”

 _Fuck him_.

Keith is so pliant, smiling at Lance as he gets manipulated into whatever beautiful image Lance’s mind paints of them. He imagines Keith against the wall, the sounds of skin against skin rough and dirty, slick dripping down Keith’s thighs, his pale skin glowing in the dim basement lighting. He imagines Keith under him, on all fours as he is fucked hard on the floor, clawing at the ground in ecstasy, sounds of slick and screams and pleasure. He imagines Keith spreading his legs and stretching himself for Lance, throwing his head back and moaning out Lance’s name.

_Alpha, Alpha, Alpha._

(Lance had once pictured their first time being in his apartment, with candles and soft music, sweet and soft kisses as they opened up to each other.)

He pushes Keith down onto his back, pulls his legs apart, and sets himself between them.

 _This is better, Alpha_.

Keith’s mind is in a haze from Lance’s scent, from Lance’s Commands, and if the smell of fresh, sweet slick is anything to go by, Keith is deep in his heat. The heat of his own body is nothing compared to Keith’s, and he wants to press close to Keith and feel all of him.

His hands are on Keith’s hips, shaking, bruising delicate skin. _Take him take him take him_.

Lance gets into Ruts every few months, and somewhere, in the back of his mind, he realizes this is one. _Take the Omega. You are the Alpha. He is_ yours _. This is your Rut._

“Lance. . .”

Years and years of being second best—he’s tugged Keith’s pants down, so he can see the black of Keith’s boxers, the obvious erection _for his Alpha_ —years and years of Keith rubbing his talents in Lance’s face. . .

“ _Yes!_ ”

His fingers graze the waistband of Keith’s underwear. He’s wanted this for so long, and Keith is _right here_ , begging for him. He can smell Keith’s slick, can tell it’s wet his boxers.

 _The Omega needs you_.

He looks at Keith’s eyes. His pupils are large, his eyes slightly dazed, but entirely focused on Lance. At Lance’s pause, Keith smirks. “Never done this before?”

Lance swallows.

“Me neither,” Keith says, and he’s beaming. Lance stops breathing. No way. There's no way. “We’ll do it together.” Then he’s grabbing Lance’s hand and sliding it into his boxers.

Lance chokes on his saliva. He’s _touching_ Keith. He can feel the heat of Keith’s cock, the damp, stickiness of his precome. Fuck.

“Finally.” He doesn’t know if he says this or if Keith does.

Lance’s cock twitches, but the fog surrounding his mind clears just a little. This is wrong. Rut or not, heat or not, this. . . Keith would never tell Lance any of this, would never let Lance touch him like this. Maybe he’s as demanding as always—“Fuck me!”—but Lance needs to be the one in control now.

Someone has to be.

He needs to stop. _Fuck him_. He needs to let go of Keith, needs to get them both out of here, needs to get away from Keith _now_.

His hands shake. They don’t feel like part of his body. His thoughts don’t feel attached to the rest of him, creating an image in his head that isn’t real (even if it’s what he wants). He doesn’t think he’s even in the basement anymore. They’re back in Lance’s bedroom, Keith spread out on Lance’s bed, an Omega in heat for his Alpha.

If he closes his eyes, he’s licking Keith’s scent gland, letting his hands squeeze Keith’s ass, his fingers pressing into Keith’s hole. Keith is squirming in his lap, in this fantasy, breathing in heavy pants as Lance brushes his prostate, as slick trickles out of him and onto Lance’s thighs.

 _Fuck him_ , his mind shouts.

It would be so easy for both of them, lost in a haze of lust and heat.

“No. . .”

Keith’s dopey smile falls away.

“No!” Lance shouts, more at himself.

“You don’t want. . .” Keith whispers, and Lance can’t tell if it’s a question. Keith seems downtrodden at the thought.

 _Take your Omega_. Lance bites his lip, forces his thoughts into control. “No,” he whispers.

Keith looks like he’s about to vomit, like Lance’s rejection has woken something inside him. The amount of hurt on Keith’s face makes Lance wish he could take it all away. He was the one that caused this, by being a stupid Alpha and taking advantage.

A reality check for both of them.

“I’m—”

“Keith,” his Alpha Command needs to sound stronger than he’s feeling, but his voice can’t reflect that. He’s going against everything he’s been taught about Alphas, everything his body is demanding he should do. “I need you to. . .” Present yourself, touch me, _like_ me, love— “Cuff me.”

 _Don’t!_ His body _screams_ at him to act on his Rut, to flip over this Omega and do what he wants, get some relief. Keith’s slick smells amazing, and it’s clear how wet he is, how ready he is _to be taken_. How much he wants Lance.

How much Lance wants Keith.

Lance can still take him. . .

No.

Nonono _nonoNONO_ —

He won’t do this.

“Cuff me. . . so I don’t do anything.”

Keith is slow to move, but he can’t refuse, sitting up as though the movements cause him pain. He touches Lance’s hands, smiling too sadly for someone who’s doing the right thing. His face looks emotionally broken. Lance feels nauseous as Keith tugs his pants back on, fumbling for the cuffs they’ve long discarded. Lance forces his hands away from his cock, refuses to touch himself through this. His body _burns_.

After what feels like years, Keith is finally cuffing Lance’s hands behind his back, completing the Command.

With Keith’s scent so close Lance’s heart is racing, his mind is demanding he act on his Rut, and his body aches to be with the Omega pressed so closely to him. His cock is still hard, and it hurts that he’s not doing anything about it.

 _How can you call yourself an Alpha if you don’t take him? How can you ignore your instincts when this is_ what you were made for?

“Keith,” he whimpers. “I’m sorry.”

He sees himself giving in, flipping Keith over and tugging down his boxers, taking the globes of Keith’s ass into his hands and spreading them apart so he could have a taste of the slick that smells so incredible. He can picture Keith’s hole twitching, wanting to stretch wider for his Alpha to press in comfortably.

He doesn’t like to fantasize, but it’s better than the alternative. He’s already done so much, taken so much. “I’m sorry.”

They’d be pressed against each other so frantically, kisses rough, sloppy in desperation. Keith would cling to him (cling to his Alpha) as Lance would slide in, no resistance because of how much slick Keith has produced, and Lance would hold Keith close.

He’s so _hard_ it actually hurts. He presses his face against the cool floor, rubbing against it as though he can have some relief.

Keith is so close to him, but so far, watching Lance’s pitiful movements, scent distressed. He’s definitely deep in heat, the smell of his slick overpowering, and Lance turns his head away, breathes through his mouth again.

“Lance. . .” Keith’s voice is so soft. It makes his heart twist. “I’m. . . sorry. . .” It physically _hurts_ to stay away, none of his other Ruts ever felt like this. He wants to at least touch himself, to relieve some of this pressure and hurt. But if he does that, then he’s just another step closer to taking advantage, to hurting Keith.

He’s touched and taken what Keith wouldn’t have given in his right mind. And now he’s imagining Keith in fantasies Keith would never want, just to try making his own Rut easier. Keith doesn’t deserve that.

(You don’t deserve that either, Lance, he wants to tell himself. But it isn’t true, doesn’t feel true.)

“I didn’t kn—”

“Don’t.”

He can smell Keith’s distress, and that makes it worse. Keith sneaks an arm around Lance’s waist, laying on the floor behind him. There’s some comfort in being near him, in having Keith’s warmth so close. But it hurts to not have him, to smell him and not act on what Alpha instinct is demanding he do.

The more he resists, the more it feels like his temperature is rising, like acid is moving through his veins instead of blood, like his head is pounding and pounding and pounding. He’s still hard, he’s still wanting.

Keith squeezes him tighter.

Lance can feel that Keith is hard, too. They’re both pained and miserable.

“Keith! Lance!” Shiro’s voice echoes from the hall. Right. They were supposed to be. . . doing something. . .

Lance _howls_.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry I disappeared off ao3 for like a year, I hope this was okay? Let me know how you felt, what you would've changed, if you liked/didn't like things! I love hearing your thoughts!
> 
> catch me on [tumblr](http://ssuppositiouss.tumblr.com)!


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